


Mike Alpha Romeo Sierra

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A commercial airline pilot AU.  What if Captain Sam Tyler, flying for British Airlines in the year 2006, had an accident and woke up in the golden age of 1960's air travel, co-pilot to Captain Gene Hunt, a hard-boozing, womanizing sky god?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mike Alpha Romeo Sierra

Prologue

Sam always thought of the walk through the airport concourse as something of a burden. It wasn't that he thought it beneath his status; despite being made Captain at the ripe young age of 35 he thought he had his head pretty firmly screwed on, and his feet firmly on the ground. He always tried to be realistic about his skills acquisition, about his general fitness to fly and his willingness to share sectors with his co-pilot. He'd had some firm and talented mentors in his early days, and he genuinely aspired to be that sort of model for the younger (or less experienced) pilots coming up under him.

So what was it? He spared a glance for Co-pilot Maya Roy, striding stoically along half a step behind him. It was hard to sneak a glance at someone just behind you--she noticed, of course, and flashed her white teeth in a smile with very little levity behind it. They'd argued that morning.

"Would you please ease up just a little, sir?" she asked quietly.

He jerked to a sudden halt, and she almost tripped over his case. The steady flow of civilians parted around them, a few curious looks coming their way. "What is it, Roy?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'd rather not have to run a marathon before every flight, Sam."

He sighed audibly and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh all right. Captain. I'd rather walk a little slower, Captain, sir." 

"Very well. You know I like to board in time to run all the diagnostics, though."

"Do we have to be like this?" There was something wistful in her tone, something yearning, though for what he wasn't sure.

"Like what?"

"Like..." she sighed in her turn. "Like we barely know each other. Five hours ago we were--"

"I know very well what we were doing." He frowned. It wasn't customary of her to mention things like that. "Maybe this is a bad idea. Do you want to request a transfer, after the Abu Dabi flight? We've got at least five more in this block, but--"

"God, Sa--Captain, that's not what I--on second thought, let's just go." 

She turned and was in motion again before he could do so much as blink, and he had to almost run a few steps in order to be at her side again. It used to be hard for him to not be distracted by her beauty--the jet black hair, the beautiful skin tone--but the more time they'd spent together, the more he'd come to know her not as a gorgeous woman, but as a set of skills. He realized that some people found this offputting about him; he just hadn't realized that she was one of them. At first starting a romantic relationship with his co-pilot had seemed racy, dangerous. But they worked so well together that it hardly seemed to matter.

Things had a way of changing. People most of all. He stretched his legs to inch ahead of her steady stride by just a bit, and watched her out of the corner of his eye while still avoiding the chattering throng of passengers and accessibility scooters and kiosks selling headphones and magazines and bottles of Icelandic water. This was their domain, and yet sometimes this ritual walk felt so empty, so like a burden.

It was as if he was the only living thing in Heathrow, all the other people just moving shadows, the hubbub of talk just background noise, and even Maya next to him felt miles away. He had used to feel so proud of the shining emblem on his breast, the pride of representing British Airways to the world, but the longer he worked the job the less special it felt.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as they neared their gate and the crowd thinned out. Their flight wasn't due to leave until five; they had plenty of time for the diagnostics and the walkaround. He could spare a moment for her. For him.

"I should hope so." Her face was tight. Not crying; she wasn't that sort. Very professional. That was part of what had drawn him to her. "I'd rather not transfer, Captain. I worked hard to get here. Maybe you--"

"Are you joking me?" He snorted, walked faster. "I know you had other offers. It's not that you couldn't--"

"I love this job as much as you. But you used to care about other things, too, Sam. Bloody hell, you're acting like a machine, these days. I might as well be in bed with the airplane for all the passion you're bringing to it--"

"Hey!" He grabbed her arm, pulled her to a stop. "Stop it. Look. Two hours til takeoff. Then a six hour flight. Can we just do our jobs, for now, and talk about this later?" She lowered her dark glower to his hand and he let go as if she'd burned him. No. He couldn't take that look anymore; he lifted a hand to his face, pushed his cap back as he scrubbed over his eyes, and when he opened them again it was to watch her determined back as she marched away from him and into the jetway. "Bollocks." 

What he needed, what he wanted, was a stiff drink, but he was a good nine hours away from any such release, and strictly speaking he oughtn't have a drop until Friday evening when he'd finally be off call. Until then it was hours of flying time with Co-pilot Maya Roy, and the sure knowledge that once they were back in London she'd be moving her belongings out of his modern, stainless-and-glass flat and back in to her parents' mansion in Belgravia.

A snotty looking teenager browsing the magazine racks nearby was staring boldly at him, the tinny music from her headphones audible even to his ears. "Fuck off," he said to her, a dangerous energy boiling in his belly, and he had the satisfaction of being flipped off before she meandered away. His glow was immediately replaced by a sick certainty that nothing was going to go well on this flight.


End file.
